


The Romanoff Fall

by namara_ashina



Category: Anastasia (1997), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Johnlock, M/M, WIP, and John is Dimitri, crossover AU, in which Sherlock is Anastasia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namara_ashina/pseuds/namara_ashina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last he saw of his younger brother was a still body lying on the tracks barely escaping being tread over by the many people rushing about. He dreamed about it over the next 10 years, regardless of who tried to disabuse him of the notion that somewhere, somehow, his brother was still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely Zasha who planted the idea in my head. This is my very first multi-chapter fic so please bear with me as I try to figure out how to make it all work.
> 
> Also this chapter has not yet been beta'd but I plan on having it be looked over soon.

“I don’t want you to go,” young Sherlock said petulantly to his older brother. Mycroft simply sighed wearily as he looked at the dancing crowd. It wasn’t the first time Sherlock had said so this night and it surely wouldn’t be the last. Unfortunately for the youngest prince it simply wasn’t going to change anything. Mycroft had come of age and, as the second son of the Tsar, would be taking his leave to study abroad in London where he would learn more on the ways of bureaucracy.

That’s what tonight’s party was supposed to be about, a birthday celebration and joyful sending off, all wrapped into a magical night of laughter, good food, good company and, of course, dancing. On any other such occasion, Sherlock would be out there himself, dancing the night away with everyone and anyone who would be his partner. Everyone in Russia knew how the young prince loved to dance. But on this night, Sherlock had barely left Mycroft’s side, glowering at any who came close save his closest family. Only they managed to pry him from his brother for longer than a minute and, even then, only for one song at a time.

“I don’t want you to go,” Sherlock repeated, this time with an edge of sadness. Mycroft did his best to refrain from sighing again as he dug into his pocket.

“We both know I will, in fact, be going though,” Mycroft replied. “Besides, it’s not as though you’ll be all alone.”

“Alexei  is boring and Mummy always hovers when he tries to be interesting.”

“Well you know how she worries. She even tried asking that dreadful Moriarty fellow for help.”

The conversation was then interrupted when Mummy herself came by to whisk young Sherlock off for a dance. Mycroft gazed softly at the pair as they twirled around the dance floor. Sherlock really did love dancing, usually losing himself in it. Tonight though, he kept glancing over at where his brother was standing, as though worried Mycroft would suddenly disappear.

“Oh for goodness sake, here!” Mycroft grumbled as he took an object from his pocket and shoved it into the younger boy’s hands when he returned as soon as the song ended.

“What is it?” he asked, turning it over.

“I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow at that and proceeded to turn it over more carefully.

“A puzzle box?” he asked, only to have Mycroft hum noncommittally. “Not just a puzzle box then?” he asked, his tone turning suspicious.

“I’m sure you can figure it out,” Mycroft repeated, trying not to appear too smug. Sherlock simply narrowed his eyes in suspicion and went to solving the little box. In the mean time, Mycroft allowed himself to relax a little as the party continued. He even managed to sneak in a few dances before Sherlock let out a crow of triumph. As the final panel slid into place, Sherlock was finally able to lift the lid and peer inside.

“A jewelry box?”  Sherlock pouted as he fished out a pair blue carbuncle cufflinks.

“Mummy thought they matched your eyes,” Mycroft said instead. “Besides, it’s not as though it has to remain a jewelry box, you can put whatever you want in there.”

Sherlock seemed to contemplate that statement for a moment before a sly grin stole across his face. “I’m going to turn it into my treasure box,” he said smugly as he put the cufflinks on, no doubt planning to fill it with various little knick knacks. Mycroft was about to ask if his toy magnifying glass counted as a treasure when, all of a sudden, a hush fell about the room. As the brothers looked up, the crowds parted, revealing two strange men making their way towards the throne area.

“Isn’t that…? Sherlock asked as their father intercepted the newcomers.

“It is.”

“And the other one?”

“I believe he’s the bat.”

“Bat?” Sherlock reiterated, glancing at his brother.

“Because of the bat wing tattoos on his back.”

“I don’t think they’re here to help Alexei,” Sherlock said in a concerned tone as their father argued with the two men, their voices getting louder and louder. The argument broke off rather suddenly with a jet of green light, a falling chandelier, and everyone screaming and running around.

“No, I don’t think so either,” Mycroft replied briskly as he half dragged Sherlock from the room.

Unfortunately that would only be the beginning of their troubles. In the aftermath of the party, tales and lies began to spread, causing unrest and eventually rebellion within the kingdom. Mycroft’s leave was delayed several times after he was almost attacked trying to leave the palace grounds. Things simply continued to get worse until one night, a rebel group actually managed to break down the front gate and stormed the palace. However, as the Romanoff family tried to flee, one member remembered something rather important.

“My treasure box!” cried Sherlock as he rushed back towards the palace with Mycroft at his heels, desperately calling his name. They were lucky to reach the young boy’s bedroom undetected and Mycroft only had a few seconds to catch his breath as Sherlock quickly attempted to located the box in question. As he frantically searched, approaching noises told them they might be running out of time. Thankfully they were saved from having to find an alternate route when a panel on the far wall opened up.

“Quickly!” cried a young boy. “You can escape out the servant’s quarters.”

“But my treasure box!” cried Sherlock as Mycroft bodily picked him up and dragged him away, the panel quickly being shut behind them. By the time they made it outside, the both of them were running at full tilt, trying so desperately to get out that they never noticed the two pairs of eyes tracking their escape.

“Shall I take care of them Master?” asked one of them.

“No,” replied the other as the boys finally left the castle grounds. A smirk adorned his face as he continued, “Let them escape, I have something much more interesting in mind.”

By the time Sherlock and Mycroft made it to the train station they were both fairly out of breath. They still had a train to catch however so they quickly made their way down the tracks. Mycroft managed to jump on first, his longer legs giving him the advantage.

“Take my hand!”

“Don’t let go!”

But there was a mysterious tug at Sherlock’s back, enough to make the younger boy lose his grip and fall headlong into the ground, his brother desperately screaming out his name as he was prevented from leaving the train. The last he saw of his younger brother was a still body lying on the tracks barely escaping being tread over by the many people rushing about. He kept it in mind as people informed him of the fate of his family. He remembered it as he adopted the last name Holmes in an attempt to evade the curse. He dreamed about it over the next 10 years, regardless of who tried to disabuse him of the notion that somewhere, somehow, his brother was still alive.


	2. Have You Heard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft Holmes has offered a reward for the return of his younger brother and two men get to plotting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually have a fic with more than one chapter now. . . Huh. Hope you guys enjoy it!  
> (Also special thanks to Kelley for all the wonderful help)

“John!” a man called as he burst through the door.

“Up here Greg,” a voice called down from upstairs causing Greg to climb them at top speed.

“You’ll never guess what I just heard!” Greg exclaimed as he rushed into the little room, excitement pouring off of him as he started taking off his jacket.

“Mycroft Holmes has finally amassed enough power and money to offer a reward for his brother, Prince Sherlock’s safe return?” John asked casually from where he was sitting at the table, his head hidden behind a newspaper.

“There’s a reward for…” the man started off enthusiastically only to jerk to a stop as John’s words registered. “Hold up, how the hell did you know?” he demanded.

John calmly answered by way of straightening out his paper and tilting it slightly towards the other man, clearly showing off the headline that stated-

“Oh.” The man said simply, the wind taken out of his sails a bit.

“Hey come on Greg,” John said cheerfully as he put the paper down and jumped up from his seat. “Why the glum look? This is great!”

“How so?” Greg asked skeptically as he leaned against the doorjamb while John started pacing.

“This could be the biggest con in history!” John exclaimed. “All we’ve got to do is find someone to pretend to be the prince, get them to London and collect the reward money. It’s brilliant!”

“What, us?” Greg asked as he moved into the room to take a seat, hanging his jacket on the back of it. “You realize everyone and their dog is going to be getting in on this, what makes you think we stand a chance?”

“Because we have the advantage,” John reasoned, taking his seat again. “Think about it. Everyone knows what happened ten years ago, the palace was attacked and the entire Romanoff family was lead into an ambush. Except, of course, for Prince Mycroft and Prince Sherlock. No one knew what had happened to them.”

“Until Mycroft popped up again in London where he became a Holmes,” Greg added in, as familiar with this tale as the rest of Russia.

“But no one knows what happened to Prince Sherlock.” John countered, expectantly.

“Yeah including us,” Greg countered right back. “What are we supposed to do, make something up?”

“Why not?” John asked with a shrug. “An ex-kitchen boy and an ex-guard? Between the two of us we should know more than enough to trick Mycroft Holmes. It’s all in the little details. Like how Prince Mycroft used to sneak sweets from the kitchen.”

“Or how Prince Sherlock used to sneak out of the castle.” Greg added thoughtfully.

“Exactly,” John said with a nod as Greg seemed to actually start considering it. “And besides,” John added as he got up and started rooting through a pile of trinkets, “we have a trump card.”

“Oh?” Greg asked, raising his eyebrow. “And what exactly would that be?”

“This!” John exclaimed triumphantly as he held up a little box.

“What is that, a music box?” Greg asked as he got up to take a closer look.

“No idea,” John replied, handing it over to the other man to inspect. “I can’t get it to open. But it belonged the Prince Sherlock. With this, we’re at least guaranteed an audience.”

“Huh,” Greg voiced in way of reply, apparently slowly warming up to the idea. “You really think we could pull this off?”

“Of course!” John replied decisively. “Come on Greg, think about it what we could do with all that money!”

“No more forging papers,” Greg put out distractedly, crossing his arms and leaning against a nearby table.

“No more stolen goods,” John added.

“We’d be rich.”

“We’d be set for life!”

“Let’s go for it!” Greg exclaimed in growing excitement, handing the box back. “If you really think this’ll work then let’s do it.”

“Great!” John replied, thrusting the box into his satchel and gathering his coat. “You book us a theater and I’ll start telling people we’ll be holding auditions.”

Greg nodded his assent as he picked up his own jacket and put it back on. Together, they both walked back down the stairs and out the door. Snow fell lightly around them as John locked the door behind them and the two men set off into the busy St. Petersburg street.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Greg asked, doubt seeping back into his voice as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “What if we get there and he sees right though us?”

“It’ll work,” John assured him. There was too much to lose if it didn’t.

“I’m sure of it.” 


End file.
